To Follow the Route of Ra
by Edmelon
Summary: "Come, Amu, let us continue our next great journey together. Let us follow the route of Ra so that we may be reborn once again… Into the afterlife..." They are born; they die; and are reborn again as they follow the footsteps of the Sun God down the river Nile; towards their judgement. Historical AU fic.
1. Chapter 1

_To Follow the Route of Ra_

_Summary: _"Come, Amu, let us continue our next great journey together. Let us follow the route of Ra so that we may be reborn once again… Into the afterlife..." They are born; they die; and are reborn again as they follow the footsteps of the Sun God down the river Nile; towards their judgement.

#/#/#

In the dead of night demons lurk.

In the darkness that encompasses the world there prowl beasts and monsters of unthinkable malice and evil. When the sun sinks below the dunes they stalk the edges of the calm, sleepy cities rising from the sand, for during the day the temperatures soar, but at night the air is cold enough to chill a person to the bone and they thrive on it; that same coldness that works their way through their veins and hearts like a creeper that works its way up a stone wall.

Many things these demons are capable of – many unspeakable things. They take many forms. They may be invisible to the naked eye or opaque against the candlelight; walk on twos or fours; or they may slither or crawl or creep their way through the night. They inflict pain upon people's souls or lurk within their minds and pick out all the things that person does not wish to recall, but soon they'll be wide awake and weeping because, as much as they try to prevent it, their demons like to rise during the night and disturb their peaceful slumber.

Terrible things, these creatures are, but, perhaps the worst kind of all, are the ones who walk among us. They are not metaphorical or invisible or small enough to ignore. They walk on twos and interact with others and have the full control of their consciousness to seek out and manipulate those they wish to twist for their own immoral purposes.

They are the worst, yet the most unavoidable.

The Pharaoh of Egypt was struck down in the dead of night by such a demon – physical and cold and all too real – and from the moment that it was announced from the Palace the citizens wept, mourned the loss of their great King and watched their backs in case such a beast could attack again.

And truly mourned, he was, for Aruto Tsukiyomi had been considered the greatest of Kings for generations. He was the God on Earth; the son of Ra – the Pharaoh. He was all-powerful and wise and great and _strong. _He commanded the Kingdom of Egypt – the civilisation carved out of the harsh heat of the desert, settled and clustered around the life-giving river all sat in the very palm of his hand – and he was respected; honoured; even worshiped.

It was said that the Sun God, Ra, once wept and, from the tears that fell from his eyes, up rose man and Aruto watched over all of Ra's men with a fondness for each of his subjects. The Pharaoh was a great man. He was a kind man. Aruto Tsukiyomi took much pride in the growth and the prosperity of his people… So when he was cruelly taken down and found with a dagger protruding from his back in his chambers, the people were baffled as to why such a man would be murdered in the coldest blood. After all, the usually observant Pharaoh had never seen it coming until the knife was already inches beneath his skin and perhaps that was the most worrying thing of all. The knowledge clung to the people within the Palace – never knowing when or where this deathly shadow would reappear and grip them in its malevolent claws, nor whether it was still among them and walking as one of their own – and the tension was often thick in the air.

But life went on.

Aruto had left a family – a wife and three children who remained in the Palace after his death and had attended the funeral with glassy eyes and a last, choked-up farewell. The wife, Souko, had fallen into a depression almost immediately after his death. The woman had been with him for most of their lives and since the incident she had rarely spoken, too wound up in her own sorrow to pay attention to the world drifting all around her.

The Tsukiyomis had always been a strong and tightly-knit family. The Pharaoh and his wife had rarely left each other's sides (he had seemed to take little interest in any of his concubines) and their children had taken to participating in public events, particularly the son who was to soon become the next ruler of Egypt. Aside from their son, the daughter, Utau, was renowned for her voice which was said to have been bestowed upon her by Hathor herself and then there was the third and youngest: Hikaru, the small boy who had been found by the Pharaoh crawling around in the mud of the city streets, dirtied and bruised and inches from starving to death in a cruel way no infant should have had to suffer… And so, his heart struck with sympathy and compassion, Aruto had introduced a third member to their family. The boy was quiet and could mostly be found studying the work of his father whose footsteps he aspired to follow someday, but he was also polite and patient and Aruto often praised his adopted son for his good traits.

And of the first son… Ikuto was preparing to become the Pharaoh and his coronation would take place that following day. But, for now, it was night and the Prince had settled, leaning against the rails of the balcony and overlooking the busy capital of Wasat. The coolness of the air was enough to condense his breath and he stared in mild fascination at the steam that rose before his face. His breath misty like the fog that rolled over the banks of the Nile, he realised as the chill on the stone numbed his fingers, as the hairs on his arms stood on end and as his breath stood out clear against the sky that he had never really felt more alive. Well, not _alive,_ but more like _living._ More like breathing and feeling and sensing and aware of the life around him and all its details and colours.

It bothered him to know that he'd only been so acutely aware of life itself since his father died. He wondered how ready he was to take his place, but, more so, he wondered how long he would last before he received a stab in the back too.

It had been awful. To hear the breaking of the vase and the grunt of the struggle; to hear the sudden alarmed shouts of the guards and finally the strangled cry of pain as the Pharaoh's life was cruelly cut short; to see his mother cry and spot the pool of blood that seeped from under the thin curtains of his father's chamber…

It was still awful.

The Prince, haunted by sudden memories of his father's death (a chill swept up his spine), pushed away from the balcony edge and left the cool of the open air, instead opting for his chambers and a good night's rest before his coronation tomorrow.

He had waited his whole life for the day when Aruto would preferably step down from his post in his old age and hand the rule of Egypt to him. He remembered how his father had always encouraged him to learn the trade – "and learn it well!" he would say, "Be ready, Ikuto, to be a great leader!" – and had often taken pride in the thought that one day his son would be as worshipped and praised as he was. He had often wished to live to see the day, yet neither of them thought there was much chance of that – the stacks were placed far too high against the King. But, to be taking the throne only days after his father had received a bitter, callous end at the hands of an unknown murderer… It left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Just you wait, old man…" Ikuto mumbled to himself as he stalked through the dim corridors of the Palace. "I'll be great," he continued, feet tap-tap-tapping against the stone; "I'll be just as great as you wished me to be." (A second set of tapping had sounded from the other end of the passage, but, too submerged in his own vows, Ikuto didn't hear them) "I'll find out who the hell dared to cut you down." He spat; "They'll _pay." _He swore;

"_They'll pay!"_

...And then Ikuto froze.

The night, still and cool, allowed a breeze to trail through the corridor, but there was something else. The flicker of the candlelight behind him danced excitedly. The silence suddenly closed in around him to suffocate his senses. And then he heard it – it had been watching him, following him, smirking at him – sadistic, mocking, just audible;

"Heh."

And then he noticed the shadow that stretched along the wall.

The next few seconds were a blur of heart-pumping terror.

Turning, Ikuto barely missed the blade that fell to hit the stone. It caught the shoulder of his clothing, but he escaped without a scratch and spun, after side-stepping and grabbing a flaming torch from the holder to his left, to face his attacker head-on.

The man all wrapped up in a dark, concealing robe stepped forward, blocking the other end of the corridor and Ikuto suddenly felt like a tiny, panicked fly trapped in the web of a spider. The beast lunged with his weapon, uttering a cry of determination, but the Prince stepped back, too well-trained to abandon his wit even for but a moment.

What followed was a torturous dance during which the Prince of Egypt was forced to shamefully continue to just _avoid_ whilst the brute continued his assault. _Damn him! _His sword was in his chamber! The nearest guard was out of hearing range! _Curse them!_

The attacker lunged again, but Ikuto was quicker and he brought the torch in his hand down with such a force on the back of his head that his eyes could have been knocked straight out from their sockets. Hindered, the man groaned loudly and, in the process of backing up and cradling their injury, their hood slackened. Ikuto was dumbfounded. He brought his torch forwards and, to his utter shock, the firelight illuminated a face that the Prince knew and even respected.

Knowing that the jig was up, they too paused. Ikuto stopped and stared, his eyes widened and his mouth hung agape.

"Ka… Kazuomi…"

The Royal Vizier stood before him, the weapon in his hands gleaming brightly in the torchlight and in the back of his mind Ikuto remembered that, shortly after the body was discovered, the killing object had disappeared from the scene. He looked at the hilt. In the dim light he could faintly make out a blood stain.

His mind reeled – his heart that had been so wildly pumping seemingly stopping dead and he felt a strange sense of emptiness with the shock that none other than Kazuomi Ichinomiya was the one to wield the blade that had killed his father. He… His father had been betrayed… _Horribly _betrayed..! He didn't understand! Kazuomi was the Vizier – the highest member of authority besides his father! – he had been dearly trusted and had followed his father throughout the man's entire life as Pharaoh so… So _why?_

"_Ichinomiya!"_

The dagger came down again and the older man stepped forward to try and kill or at the very least injure his opponent, but to no avail. Ikuto was in a state of shock. Forget being attacked unexpectedly in a dark passageway, but to be attacked and then to be greeted by the eyes of his dear dead father's most loyal subject…

"Ikuto…" The man's low voice was a steady rumble as he advanced towards his target. Ikuto stepped back, but he just kept on going.

"Why..?"

Step.

"_Why would you-?"_

Step.

"_Why would you kill my father?"_

The Vizier grinned horribly at him – the expression completely void of mirth and Ikuto's body was suddenly consumed by the fiercest rage to ever have coursed throughout his body. His fist clenched hard enough to almost draw blood and he didn't realise until it was too late that some invisible force was causing him to approach his attacker. In his fury he forgot that he was weaponless.

He seethed; _"Kazuomi!"_

The Vizier growled, a glint in his eyes as he, like a soldier in the heat of battle, watched the enemy charge towards an army that he knew he could not beat, yet he kept going. It provided a sort of morbid amusement to know that one would so foolishly race towards their own deaths without a second thought, fuelled by adrenaline and desperation and _anger._

Ikuto rushed forward, raising a fist, intending to strike the traitor senseless…

But the punch was intercepted by the Vizier's own and the momentum of Kazumoi's fist to his gut made Ikuto stagger uselessly forwards, knocking past the other and into the wall behind them. Kazuomi whirled round and came in for a second attack, but Ikuto was still younger and faster and he easily dodged, circling his opponent and making clear of the deadly knife. They circled each other like lions; like gladiators in far-off countries, baring their teeth like animals.

"You have not answered me!" the young Prince began through gritted teeth. "Ichinomiya," he spat; "what in the name of the Gods do you think you're doing?"

The Vizier – his face ominously shadowed in the dim light of the passageway – replied in a tone barely audible. "What does it matter, Ikuto?" he said terrifyingly calmly. "You won't live to see it!"

And Ikuto found himself under attack yet again as the other lunged forward, brandishing his dagger, however this time Kazuomi managed a hit and Ikuto snarled, backing away and freeing his shoulder from the blade. The pain swelled horribly quickly and blood pattered down onto the tiles, the blood horribly warm and seeping unpleasantly into his clothing to stick to his skin. But Ikuto had no time to focus on his injury. He was disadvantaged – he saw that now as the blow apparently brought back the heavy reality of the situation. He had to get out. He had to escape. He was the future of his father's nation; he had to find a guard or, at the very least, he had to retreat for his own weapon before he could come back with a vengeance.

And that's how Ikuto found himself on his feet, sprinting as fast as he could down the shadowed pathways in the maze of the Palace, feeling humiliated and afraid, fleeing like the hunted as he was pursued by the savage predator mere paces behind him. He turned corners, side-stepped, pumped his legs as fast as they could take him through many confusing corridors, yet with every pound of his feet upon the stone tiles, pain jolted through his body and spots clouded his vision as he bled upon the floor. Kazuomi would follow his trail, he realised as he felt it slide along the hand pressed to the wound , he would follow and he would be found and he would die a painful, meaningless death just as his father had only nights ago. Alone, cold, terrified…

"_GACK!"_

A resonating, heavy thud sounded as, in his gloomy thoughts, Ikuto slipped in a trail of his own fresh blood that he had intended to follow backwards in the hopes of tricking his opponent.

But, alas, as his head pounded and as his heart beat, his vision began to fade and, reluctantly, Ikuto had no choice but to slip into unconsciousness and all the while the demon stood above him, sneering – a sadistic, malevolent shadow that blocked all light and muffled all screams.

#/#/#

The fog had settled thick upon the sand and stone, veiling all within its domain and so it was that no one saw the man in the night, lugging the sack over his shoulder. No one saw the glint in his eyes or heard the chuckle escaping his curled lips. He glanced over his shoulder. Even the glow of the lights which usually shone bright from the Palace windows could not be seen.

The scene was perfect – suited to evil deeds. He heard the water before he saw it, the gurgle of the Kingdom's life source echoing in the air like vindictive laughter. He chuckled again. It was like having an audience and yet, as it was, no one would ever know of what he'd done down by the river bed.

No one would know.

He finally felt the water lick at his open toes and so the Vizier let the sack drop to the ground. Though, in truth, it was not exactly a bag or a sack; just a wounded man bundled in fabric to keep the blood from dripping onto his clothes. He couldn't return to the court with blood stains on his person.

Tossing the dirtied, stained sheets aside, Kazuomi took one sweet second to stare down at the unconscious Prince and he laughed. He did not chuckle; he laughed a harsh, solid bark of laughter and knelt down for a moment to savour the moment. The wretch would die of his wounds. The dagger had dug deep and the blood still seeped, though admittedly less so right now, but he had still lost much and he would lose even more asleep and in the hands of a treacherous conspirator.

"Ikuto…" he said lowly so that anyone passing by might mistake his tone for a sort of genuine, loving affection. But the illusion was ruined as he calmly rose and proceeded to give the young man a harsh kick in the side, spitting; "Disappear into the dirt from whence you came, wretch." And, with that, he sent Ikuto another forceful kick, sending him rolling down the little slope beside the Nile and into the deep, murky waters.

"I doubt even Ammut could stomach your sordid heart."

And as the last strand of blue atop his head disappeared, bobbing as he was swept away from the scene, Kazuomi watched until he had vanished from sight. He walked away, coolly, tranquilly as the demon cloaked itself once again; concealed the glint in his eyes and the dagger beneath his robes.

#/#/#

**Ra**: _A God associated with the sun and most commonly represented as a man with the head of a falcon. He was thought to have also travelled into the underworld every night and then back again as the sun was reborn in the morning._

**Hathor**: _The Goddess of music (among other things)._

**Ammut**: _A demon who ate the hearts of those who were not allowed to pass into the afterlife. Their heart would be weighed against a feather to determine whether they were worthy of passing the test and allowed to move on._

**Wasat**: _Wasat was twice used as an ancient Egyptian capital, known today as Thebes. I never made up my mind about when exactly in ancient Egypt this story was set and I don't plan to give an actual historical period, so I just chose the capital that I'd heard most about._

**Vizier**: _The highest ranking member of authority in Ancient Egypt, apart from the Pharaoh. The title was given by the Pharaoh himself and they served him loyally – one of their duties even concerning the Pharaoh's safety._

#/#/#

_**A/N**__: Wow so perhaps I shouldn't be writing another story, but it's only a small one and I had the inspiration. It's always hard for me to let certain ideas go._

_I am no Egyptologist, so I apologise for any historically inaccuracies in this fanfiction._

_Anyway, reviews/comments/critique would very much appreciated. ^^_


	2. Chapter 2

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Before all else, he was aware of the heat.

He was floating – that much else he could tell, but it was strange. Very strange; his consciousness caught drifting there in the black void of which he knew naught – knew naught of its purpose or of its make or whether even this was the world of the living or the dead. His mind was alive, but his body he could not be sure. He felt free as a spirit being swept through the flow of time and space, but for all of these sensations… He was sure he was dead.

And yet still there was the heat. The blazing sun from above rained fire down upon the Earth, casting viscous, burning rays across his back; the fiery intensity saturating his skin and making him sweat.

A single bead ran from his brow to the tip of his nose and now, in that moment, he knew he was alive and suddenly, as his mind was brought back to reality with the burning of his skin (which was now all so sudden and real and _there_), he realised that he could feel. He was aware of everything. Within a second, Ikuto's consciousness had fallen from the void and back to the ground on which he lay and now, so quickly, he began to focus on his surroundings.

First he felt in the literal sense. His body – it _ached. _It groaned and cried, battered and weary for mercy. Ikuto furrowed his brows as best he could in his sorry state and felt the sand scrunch up around his face. And then he noticed that it was all around – the pesky, gritty stuff – in his hair, drying in awkward, itchy clumps; it was soft against his lips, wet and slushy around his feet and rubbing irritatingly around the scraped skin on his knees. But, as much as he may have wished, he could not move away from the stuff, for now he became all too aware of the steady, searing, ever-growing throbbing in his left side…

'_Ah…' _He thought, frighteningly calm._ 'I've been stabbed…'_

It was then that Ikuto realised that he must be laying on his front as the ache only worsened as his body weight placed pressure on it until there was a great surge of pain that would have made him cry out if, of course, he had had strength enough to. For what seemed to be the first time since regaining consciousness, a giant breath swept through Ikuto's body and he just lay there, breathing heavily, yet steadily. He was alive, yes, that much was obvious, but he still felt distant, faint even, as he began to realise his fate.

Now the sun was beginning to scorch him terribly as he lay there helpless and weak – now at the mercy of the sun god Ra whose eagle wings swept light upon the dunes and heat across the plains now hottest and most intense in the calm of the day. The wind was still and the air muggy – even the water which lapped at his feet, gurgling in the background, was warm – and Ikuto's skin burnt in protest, but he could not move nor cry not complain with his head in the sand and his body immobilised. Yet he managed somehow to shift his head and (although oddly calmly as if he were merely dealing with a trivial situation rather than his own fate), he with great effort peeled open his heavy eyes and gazed through his ruffled fringe towards the sky. The first few seconds were bleary, foggy and bleak as if a great, grey shadow lay across the desert, but he eventually could make out the surrounding area (not much, just pale sand and green tufts of grass) and that bright, blinding reflection on the ground of that white light in the sky that caused him such discomfort.

'_So annoying…' _Ikuto mentally sighed. _'I'm most probably doomed to die anyway,' _he thought, remembering the wound that had ripped through his shoulder.

And, with that, giving in to a fate which he only thought could be inevitable, Ikuto sighed a sigh of defeat and rested his head heavier to the ground. Letting his eyelids slowly drop brought such satisfaction and relief that he couldn't have realised just how weak he truly was, but Ikuto could not bring himself to care. Everything hurt – everything inch of his body was quietly giving up and, as far as he was concerned right then and there, he'd let it go because, for all the world, it seemed that there was nothing left for him.

And so he rested in the baking heat beneath the midday sun and waited for the oncoming wave of mortal doom to wash over him.

He waited.

And he waited.

And he waited until he was so, so sure that he could finally feel himself beginning to drift away–

But then his mind was brought back to Earth.

He had felt the sand shifting beneath his body before he saw them coming. He had heard the swish of feet through long grass before he heard their actual steps. Yet not until he'd heard some curious, whispered gasp of surprise had his mind even registered what his body had picked up on first and, before he knew it, he knew that there was a shadow cast across his form and he'd felt the presence of someone else stood above him – felt the cool of their shadow across his back; registered the anxiety in their tone.

Someone spoke to him – some unfamiliar, otherworldly voice that fell like music upon his ears, filling up some void of empty loneliness that had begun to consume him as he lay alone and stranded in the distant reaches of the desert. Gradually, Ikuto forced open his eyelids and tried to draw back his head to gaze further upwards to even catch the merest glimpse of this newcomer and when his vision adjusted to the light, Ikuto was greeted by a blur of pastel colours all melting into one – pale skin and rosy cheeks; crisp, clean skirts strikingly white in the sun; dragonfly eyes and the most striking locks of pink he'd ever seen, blowing gently in the breeze as they stepped towards him…

And then, just as he thought he was being brought back to reality, the darkness took him again.

#/#/#

When the fog began to lift, Ikuto found himself far from the heat of the sun. He had been moved, he knew it, yet where he had been moved _to _was a different matter.

"Where am I?" Ikuto croaked, throat burning with thirst and the itch of desert sand. His voice had acted quicker than his mind which was still sluggishly beginning to function again. His vision was faded, yet he found himself in what appeared to be a cosy little living space.

"Now don't talk," a kind, gentle voice sounded somewhere to his right. In that direction he heard the swish of skirts and the _tap-tap-tapping _of bare feet upon stone. "You've only just woken up!" said the speaker and Ikuto saw her now – a short woman with a kindly twinkle in her eyes and a smile upon her face – as she knelt beside him, carrying with her a small chipped cup. "Here," she said, proffering it to him. He reached for it immediately, seeing now that it was full of water, only to wince in agony at the shot of pain that raced through his torso and straight to his left shoulder.

"Careful now!" the woman gasped, placing a steady hand on his healthy side and lowering him back down onto his makeshift bed of linen and little pillows. "Your wound will re-open." She added, handing to him once more the cup of water and helping him to lean oh-so-slightly forward so as not to disturb his injuries. He had never so badly enjoyed a drink in his life.

"Where am I?" he asked again, his throat now slightly soothed, yet he still could not even try to raise his voice above a murmur. "How did I get here?" He frowned. The gaps in his memory were wide and glaring and unsettling as hell.

"Now you don't worry about that for a moment," the woman hushed him, letting him lie back again; "not so soon."

There was a silence in which Ikuto could not think of how to press the subject. How he made it back from the riverbed was beyond him. Had someone found him? His brain began to tick back into action, trying desperately to recall something – _anything. _He remembered waking in the midday sun… He remembered laying there doomed to die…

"That was some awful sunstroke, my son," the cheery woman said, bringing Ikuto back to Earth. She drew her hand back up across his forehead and brushed away the sweaty locks; "another few hours and I don't even want to think what might've happened…"

'_Yes, that's right; I was in the sun for a long time…'_

But then they'd found him. _Someone _had found him. He remembered her now. He remembered her as a mirage in the desert; he remembered her as a foggy, clouded vision stood above him made of soft splashes of colour and a voice as calm as the tide in the morning. But all he saw around him now was this older, plainer woman whose skin was equally as pale and delicate, yet her voice held a different tune and her hair, though fine and sleek, was the colour of common dust.

Where was the girl of pastel pink he'd seen before? Or had he even seen her at all? Had he merely been hallucinating under the influence of the strength of Ra who hung in the heavens? Though that would not explain how he had been found and brought away and his life saved through such a miraculous string of circumstances. But, of course, he may still have been seeing desert-phantoms before his eyes as he lay there ready for death. It was of course a possibility that, having imagined the entire ordeal and passing out into the sand, he had been found by a completely different person altogether and that this woman he looked for was just a ghost of his imagination.

He groaned and rested a hand against his head. It ached dreadfully. He had never had sunstroke before and thinking this way did not help.

Meanwhile, the woman beside him continued on. "That is one nasty cut." She leant over to check the bandages that had been wrapped about his chest and side. "How might that have happened?"

"How am I alive?" Ikuto blurted out, rubbing his closed eyes. He had been left in the sun for possibly hours and had lost a great amount of blood. And he did not doubt that his wound would probably get infected if the initial blow had not killed him first. He was lucky to be alive, but he would be even luckier to survive any further.

"My daughter found you." Said the woman simply, reaching across to begin unravelling the layers of cloth. Ikuto wasn't sure that he wanted her to remove his bandaging, but he was still in too weak a state to care.

"Your daughter?" he echoed dumbly and tried not to move too much as she messed around with his tender side.

"Yes," she replied; "she found you earlier on today passed out in the riverbed not far from here. She was relieved. Had she gone much later you would have been past saving."

"Your daughter…"

Could she have been the woman he saw in his sorry state?

Silence filled the room as Ikuto lay, allowing his dressing to be changed. The red-stained fabric was enough to stop him protesting. He didn't fancy catching an infection through unhygienic treatment. Still, to be alive now was more than he deserved. He remembered the night before – he remembered the glint in Kazuomi's eyes as he lunged forward with the knife and the satisfied snarl that skewed his lips as his dagger finally cut the Prince's flesh. The memories were haunting. They would haunt him forever. They consumed his mind and body and soul and make him squeeze his eyes shut; they made him want to writhe in agony. A shudder erupted in his spine, only the movement snagged at the gaping wound in his shoulder as his nurse tried to tend to it and Ikuto groaned loudly in pain, growling through clenched teeth so forcefully that he could not even hear the woman try to calm him down.

But he did hear the crashing through the open door. Hurried footsteps crunched upon sand and across the threshold of the home, rushed over to the bed and knelt down beside the two of them. A voice – caring and soothing, yet worried – met his ears and it was a melodic sound as sweet as song that made him calm his moaning and open his eyes to meet the gaze of the woman he had wished for.

That was it. That was the voice he had heard. _She _was the saviour of his life. The distortions in his memory of her now faded out, smoothing and twisting into something recognisable and all the more beautiful. Her hair was still as pink as he had seen and her eyes; they shone honey-gold like jewels in the sunlight, stood out against shimmering blues and greens, rimmed with kohl.

"Is he okay?" her voice had dulled his pain, his mind numb and struck with awe. "Mother," she anxiously looked over at the older woman, her neat little brows knitted together with concern; "is he okay?"

"Amu, dear," her mother replied, hurriedly untying the last of the bandages; "it's alright, I'm sure he'll be fine." She reassured her daughter before turning back to him. "I'll need to fetch more water."

And, with that, the woman rose and disappeared into the background. But it didn't matter. Ikuto's eyes lay fixed upon the young woman who he knew had saved him. He couldn't find the words to say.

She – _Amu – _looked back at him and smiled softly, though still she looked deeply worried. "Are you feeling okay?"

To see her again was one thing, but to begin conversation, however small, was another.

"Fine…" he managed to whisper.

"Good." Amu smiled. "I'm Amu Hinamori," she said; "nice to meet you."

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**_A/N_**_: So this might become more than a three-shot? __I don't even know. I don't want to make the chapters too long. Just going with it I guess._

_Thanks to those who have read this second chapter. Any thoughts would be much appreciated ^^_


	3. Chapter 3

###

_"I'm Amu Hinamori," she said; "nice to meet you."_

"Amu,"

Amu cocked her head to one side. "Yes."

Ikuto exhaled deeply, unsteadily through the throbbing of his wound. "You found me by the riverbed..."

She smiled an uncertain smile as though bashful and nodded. With that silence fell between them as Amu's mother quickly returned, once more tap-tapping away on the tiles, though this time more hurriedly as she brought with her the water and, under her arm, a basket laden with a number of curious little corked bottles all marked with a scrawl that he could not read. She knelt beside Ikuto's bed and immediately began to rummage through everything, a look of purest concentration on her face.

"That's a serious wound, my son," she said sternly, pausing briefly to hold up two bottles to the light, her gaze flicking between them and her patient as she apparently decided which best to put to use. "I should have to clean you up better before we can even think of getting stitches done." She lowered the bottles back into the basket and unfurled a new roll of bandage linen and some cloth swabs. "This will hurt, son," she said in an apologetic tone; "but we don't want you getting an infection now, do we?"

Ikuto nodded, only half-aware of what she was saying as he leaned forward, watching her work with intrigue, dousing swabs in different substances.

"Do you need a hand, mother?" Amu spoke up and Ikuto's attention was instantly switched. Whether it was a part of the shock of his experience or some maddening side-effect of his time in the sun, he did not know, but he was suddenly quite aware that his heart had begun to beat a little faster.

"Lay him back, Amu, dear,"

Entranced, Ikuto could only stare dumbly, his heartbeat pounding, as Amu leaned forward and gently placed a hand on his chest, lowering him down. Her touch was softer, warmer, more soothing than the softest, fluffiest pillows beneath his aching body or the smoothest, most luxurious silks that had ever graced his person back at his home in the Palace. Was he still asleep down by the river, he wondered? Was he still laying in the sand beneath the sun, blissfully ignorant of his oncoming doom as his mind flew free, dancing in the desert with the spirits of the afterlife? Was her welcoming touch the touch of Anubis reassuring his soul, drawing him into the world beyond the living..?

But the pain that followed... The pain was all too real.

Suddenly his shoulder was alight again - an inferno was raging through his joints; he was burning from the inside. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth grit so tight, so tense that he could barely get a breath in, let alone scream... He jerked, an arm subconsciously flying out in protest. He heard Amu gasp beside him.

A few seconds passed. The woman eased up on the pressure over the wound, but the pain was only lessened by the slightest. It came in waves, unceasing, but less piercing and he managed a gasp - a great gulp of air.. Whatever she had dipped her linen in was sticky and sweet-smelling, but it made him raw.

"For infection," she said simply, as if reading his racing mind; "I won't have you live through washing up on the shore just to die of fever!" And, as if to prove her point, she ran her swab over the length of the wound, slow and deliberate. He tried to hold back a groan, quite unsuccessfully.

"Amu, soak some bandages for me, dear,"

Her little voice was anxious and strained. "Yes, mother..."

"There..." the woman's voice returned, soothing and calm. The pain was lessening. Ikuto's breathing levelled out. The fire beneath his skin was slowly extinguishing and a new, cooling sensation was washing over his side. He lay, panting, and weakly dragged his eyelids open. Amu leant over him, her dainty little hands across his chest, smoothing down a fine layer of linen over his wound. The pain was numbing, relaxing. Her hands glided over his skin, rising and falling with his every breath, and a great weight seemed to have lifted from his consciousness.

Did she truly have an angel's touch?

"That should do it." Her mother said, brighter now. "Take the pain away."

The pain was truly leaving him... Abandoning him... Oh, he sighed in relief and he thanked whatever deities that would listen that the river had spit him out onto the shore. How else would he have come this way? How else would he have been greeted, been lifted by the sight of such glorious pink and honey gold - been treated to the softest touch or the sweetest smile?

He breathed;

"Thank you..."

###

Treatment would be tough - that Ikuto knew from the moment he'd come to his senses in the Hinamori home, but that first day he was not altogether sure he would even survive the aftermath of his wound at all.

The rest of that very first day passed in a haze during which he lay, drifting in and out of consciousness, on his little makeshift bed on the floor of the family home, trapped in an opium-induced state of deleria. Never before had he suffered an injury so grievous that it had required a drug as strong as this to ease his pain, but, then again, he had never found himself unarmed and defenceless against a psychotic, traitorous monster in a dark passageway. After all, even without his guards to accompany him, he was adept with a sword and it was unusual for him to venture alone without it. But the grief of his father's passing had brought far more important things to the front of his mind and, besides, he had never expected the threat to have come from a man who had once seemed to loyal to the Crown...

And so here he was, caught in a whirlwind of dimmed colour and muffled sound as the Hinamori women went about their daily business to and fro around him when, of course, they weren't knelt beside him, checking his wounds and speaking softly to him. But their words fell away with the wind, it seemed, and even the melodic, heavenly voice of the girl who had saved him fell short of his ears, escaping like sand through his fingers.

But in this way she was still a mirage - his saviour. She was still the entity he had found his heart drawn to. The pastel hues of her rosy hair swept behind her, stark against the dull walls, waving as the reeds waved in the wind or the dancers swayed in the Royal Court. She was the definition of grace - the way she stepped; the way she turned - she moved like the haze of the sun and she entranced him in ways he never thought possible. Sometimes, as Ikuto breached the barrier between darkness and consciousness, he would lift his eyes just the slightest and for a moment in his deluded state he would think he was staring into the setting sun, for those eyes - they shone so bright! And, once or twice, Ikuto stirred to feel soft skin brush against his cheek; trail down along his jawline...

Ikuto exhaled contentedly, her fingers so delightfully soft against his burnt and sweaty skin.

"Ah!"

He heard her clothes rustle as she hastily withdrew her hand. He was half-surprised that it hadn't been a dream.

"You're awake!" Amu said, her voice hushed and glad. "How are you feeling?"

Ikuto opened his eyes. Her form was clearer now, though the background was fuzzy. Amu, on the other hand, stood out like a glowing beacon in the darkness. He considered her question.

"Sore." He said. Now that he was coming to his senses again, he registered the dull ache in his bones and the scratching of his sunburnt back against the bedclothes.

"Mother will get you something more for the pain later on when she checks your bandages," Amu said sympathetically. "She's gone to collect some more honey."

This news did not gladden Ikuto's heart. He had learnt that it was in fact the honey Amu's mother had been using to treat his wounds. He was sure an actual infection would be less painful - or messy, for that matter. But, then again, at least she always soothed the pain when she was done and Ikuto considered her opium remedy a gift bestowed by the Gods - a blessing to ease his aching body and free his mind.

There was a moment of silence then between the two as Amu knelt beside him, gazing down at the man on the floor of her home, apparently considering him carefully.

Ikuto, in his weakened state, somehow found the strength to smirk up at her, a soft chuckle escaping his dry lips. "You know it's rude to stare like that."

Amu, as if only just realising what she'd done, quickly pulled back, her cheeks puffing, looking embarrassed. "I'm allowed to be concerned..." she mumbled, huffily brushing a few strands of pink hair from her face and averting her eyes. Ikuto's lips twitched. Her cheeks were adorably pink, but her brows were now furrowed in concern, her eyes glittering with something Ikuto couldn't quite place a finger on.

The silence stretched out between them and the young Prince all of a sudden felt deeply unnerved. What was going on in that pretty little pink head of hers? What was it that made her look down at him like that - like he was an enigma? Did she know something he didn't? Ikuto considered this... Perhaps she thought he wasn't going to make it. Perhaps it was pity clouding her eyes - perhaps that sparkle and shimmer was a sign of unshed tears brimming towards the surface.

A shadow fell over the room. Ikuto shifted his gaze over the girl's shoulder and over to the window. The sky seemed to burn above them as the sun embarked on the last leg of its journey across the heavens. Night would fall and reign darkness upon the world - cold and empty; full of shadows... When people fled back to the safety of their homes and shut their doors and barred their windows...

Ikuto shivered as his mind wandered down this unsettling path.

The demon was still at large.

In his state of pain and fevered confusion, Ikuto had paid little thought to the man who had sent him down the Nile and into the arms of the Hinamori family, but now the thought of that man - the murderous glint in his eyes and the candlelight upon his dagger - gripped at his heart like a vine on brick. He dreaded and feared and loathed that man like no other...

And yet he was still alive.

_'He killed my father.'_

"Hey..."

It was the concerned tone of Amu that first drew Ikuto out of his reverie and she opened her mouth as if to go on, but before the words could leave her mouth there came a cry from beyond the door and the sound of many footfalls on stone reached Ikuto's ears. A man was weeping;

"His Majesty - gone!" the voice trembled; "Snatched from under the nose of his guards and cast away to whatever end - we cannot tell! O! And Her Highness ill and weak behind the walls of the Palace... How unfortunate! How unhappy for the line of Tsukiyomi - for Egypt... How is it that they can be cursed so suddenly... What fate for Egypt now?"

"His Young Highness shall surely see us through these tragic times, dear," the soothing voice of Amu's mother joined in to comfort the weeping man; "he is strong and not of their bloodline. Perhaps he shall not be affected."

"But he is too young, so they say... Oh, Midori, dear... what fate for Egypt?"

Ikuto managed a glance at Amu, who looked as though she was deep in thought, before the door was swung open and in came the girl's mother, followed by a man and a small child whom Ikuto had not seen before. Both, however, bore an uncanny resemblance to the pink-haired girl. Ikuto found it safe to assume that he was about to meet the rest of the family unit.

"Oh!" the man stopped upon seeing them in the corner of the room. "He is awake! A fighter, truly!" He said and he wandered over, pulling himself together after his fit of earlier despair. "How is he, Amu, dear?"

Amu merely nodded in response.

"You hear me son?" the man knelt beside his daughter, noticing now that Ikuto's eyes and upon him and bright with awareness.

Ikuto, stiffly, managed to shift himself a little more upright. "I hear you," he said softly, his voice slightly strained with the effort of movement; "and I thank you - your family - for taking me... for helping me..."

"Settle, son, settle!" Amu's father shook his head sternly. "It's our pleasure! I am astounded, young man! I am astounded that you are still here - that I am able to speak with you at all! I couldn't quite believe my eyes when my daughter called me down to the river - dreadful! But, then again," he paused to smile fondly, his chest swelling with pride, at the girl beside him; "if not for her, well... I dread to think."

The young Prince would have spoken, but the bashful, pink expression on Amu's face had his breath caught in his throat.

"You should stay for some time," her father continued seriously, dragging Ikuto's thoughts back to the present. "Until that wound heals."

"It may take some time." Amu's mother called from somewhere in the background. "I've never seen a wound so fierce."

"Of course not," her husband agreed, his tone suddenly grave. "a wound so deep... However did you get it?"

"I..."

Ikuto couldn't help but hesitate. He had been so blissfully protected from his own memories in his unconscious state... he wasn't sure he wanted the weight of that night to press down upon him again...

"I was attacked..." He said, not untruthfully, but his skin prickled uncomfortably. Amu was staring at him, her face unreadable, yet piercing. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Dreadful," her father was saying. "But no matter, son. You shall stay with us until you are well. You needn't confide in us until you are ready."

Ikuto would have bowed had he been able to stand. "Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure. My name is Tsumugu. You are welcome in my home."

"Amu dear," Her mother was whispering behind her husband and the girl left Ikuto's side suddenly. "Help me with this draught,"

And Ikuto settled down, already smelling the brewing medicine that would send him back to sleep, a wave of exhaustion crashing down upon him.

If it would let him sleep away the awful memories for just a bit longer, he wasn't sure he minded.


End file.
